


Rescue 77 Season 2/Episode 4 "Y2K"

by Firebuff51 (DCMUFics)



Series: Rescue 77-Season 2 [4]
Category: Rescue 77
Genre: 1990s, Action/Adventure, California, Drama, EMS, Emergency Medical Technicians, Fire, Firefighters, Gen, Humor, Los Angeles, Medical Trauma, Rescue, Season/Series 02, paramedics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 04:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMUFics/pseuds/Firebuff51
Summary: Rescue 77 rings in the new year assisting the Pasadena fire department. Bridges is concerned about the impending Y2K bug. A man is trapped inside a freezer. Wick helps comfort a young accident victim.





	Rescue 77 Season 2/Episode 4 "Y2K"

**Rescue 77**

 

**Season 2-Episode 4**

 

**Previously, in Rescue 77...**

 

Ryan reconnected with her high school boyfriend, a famous actor. An investigative reporter who targeted the L.A. Fire Authority was later saved by Rescue 77 when he had a heart attack on live TV. Wick learned that his roommate was a lesbian, dashing his hopes of courting her.

 

 

December 31st, 1999.

8:28 am.

 

“I don't envy you guys,” a B-shift paramedic named Patterson said as he and his partners passed through Station 77's kitchen. “Workin' New Year's eve blows.”

 

“That's not the worst of it,” Michael Bell replied, sipping coffee from a _Thunderbirds_ mug. “Us and 28's are pulling mutual aid duty tonight. We're gonna be backing up Pasadena. Between the parade and the Rose Bowl tomorrow, the town's gonna be flooded with people, so we're extra hands.”

 

“Yikes. Better bundle up.”

 

Wick Lobo offered the departing paramedics a friendly nod as he entered the kitchen. He opened the cupboard above the kitchen counter and scanned the shelves.

 

Bell watched him.

 

“What are you lookin' for, Wick?”

 

Wick shuffled the mugs and glasses.

 

“My Thunderbirds mug. I swear, if Bridges did something with it-” he closed the door to see Bell smiling at him from behind his favorite mug. “Come on, Bell. That's low, man. You know I love that mug.”

 

“Which mug?” Bell took a long sip from it. “This one? I had no idea this was your mug.”

 

“Dang it, Bell. You _know_ that's my mug and I-”

 

John Bridges marched into the kitchen.

 

“I don't believe you two. Arguing about something trivial like a mug when we have bigger things to worry about.”

 

“Yeah?” Wick reluctantly pulled another mug from the cabinet. “Like what?”

 

Bridges placed his hands flat on the table in front of him.

 

“Oh, I don't know. Y2K?”

 

Bell and Wick looked at each other before breaking into laughter.

 

“Seriously, Bridges?” Bell chuckled. “Y2K? That's what you're worried about?”

 

The veteran firefighter stepped forward and pointed at them.

 

“You mock me, but the Y2K bug is a real thing, gentleman, and it's nothing to laugh at. Computer systems across the country...the _world_ could just...just shut down and then bam! We're living in the dark ages again. No lights, no ATM machines, no power, no _nothing_. We could descend into chaos!”

 

Kathleen Ryan walked in and picked up a newspaper from the table, biting into an apple as she skimmed the front page.

 

“What are we talking about?” she asked, mouth full.

 

“Bridges thinks the world's gonna end tonight,” Wick poured himself a cup of coffee. “Y2K's gonna black out the country.”

 

“Oh, it's not just the power grid we have to worry about,” said Ryan, tossing down the paper. “What if some rogue nation decides to attack us? How would we know?”

 

“See?” Bridges pointed at her. “She knows! She gets it!”

 

“Oh yeah,” Ryan continued. “I mean, that's not even mentioning the fact that nuclear weapons might accidentally get launched. Now that I think about it...no. No, I don't want to say...”

 

Bridges stared at her with trepidation.

 

“What? What is it, Ryan?”

 

“Well,” Ryan took another bite of her apple. “It would be a perfect time for aliens to land. We'd be weakened. Totally powerless to stop them. It'd be like _Independence Day_ except _this_ time...the aliens would _win_.”

 

Wick and Bell roared with laughter. Bridges scowled at the three paramedics.

 

“Real cute, Ryan. I would have expected better from you. You've let these two knuckleheads that you ride with dumb you down.”

 

He shook his head in disgust and stalked out of the kitchen. Wick gave Ryan a high five.

 

A high-low tone echoed through the station, followed by a clanging bell.

 

“ _Station 77, rescue, person trapped_ ,” called the dispatcher. “ _990 North Halston Way, cross street San Pedro. Time out 8:33_.”

 

“ **Y2K”**

 

8:42 am.

 

Two LAPD black and whites were parked at the curb before a Mexican restaurant. Bell parked Rescue 77 in the street with the engine and truck stopping behind them.

 

As the firefighters stepped down from their rigs, a police sergeant nodded to Captain Durfee, holding the restaurant's front door open.

 

“What's the situation?” asked Durfee as he and Captain Romero stepped onto the sidewalk.

 

“Oh, you'll love this,” the sergeant replied. “Some idiot broke into this place sometime over night and got locked in the walk-in freezer.”

 

“Is he still in there now?” asked Romero.

 

“Yep. The next door neighbor showed up this morning, found the front door open and called us. We haven't been able to get a hold of the owner yet and we can't find a key anywhere.”

 

“Okay, forcible entry tools,” Romero said to his crew before gesturing to the three paramedics. “Better grab your gear, too.”

 

Bell retrieved the oxygen and jump bag from the ambulance while Wick grabbed the BioCom radio before following the other firefighters inside.

 

They made their way through the dining room into the kitchen area where two more police officers stood beside the stainless steel doors of the freezer.

 

“We haven't heard much from him in the last few minutes,” said one of the officers. “We've been trying to keep him talking.”

 

Durfee slapped the door twice.

 

“This is the fire department! Can you hear me?”

 

They were met with silence.

 

“Drill the lock,” said Romero to one of Truck 77's men.

 

A firefighter stepped forward and started up a drill which he used to punch through the door lock. After a few seconds, they could hear the lock assembly clank against the floor of the freezer.

 

Durfee pulled open the heavy door to reveal a bald Caucasian man wearing a T-shirt and jeans curled into the fetal position, shivering on the floor.

 

Wick and Bell stepped into the freezer and pulled the victim out into the warmth of the kitchen.

 

“Sir? Can you tell me what happened?” Bell called, raising his voice as he tore open a packet containing a Mylar warming blanket.

 

“I..b-broke in...thought...I h-heard someone c-coming...” the man stuttered, clutching his hands to his chest, eyes closed. “Hid...hid in the f-f-freezer...”

 

“Genius. Pure genius,” one of the officers said dryly.

 

“How long ago was that?” asked Bell, draping the blanket over the man.

 

“I don't...don't know...early,” the man replied. “It was still d-dark...”

 

“Can you tell me your name?”asked Ryan, studying her watch as she checked the man's pulse.

 

“Ch-Charles.”

 

“B.P.'s 68 palp. Charles? Can you open your eyes for me?”

 

The man slowly opened his eyes to stare at her before closing them again.

 

“I wanna go to...to bed...”

 

“No! I need you stay awake, Charles,” called Ryan. “Come on, stay awake for me.”

 

Wick slipped on the radio headset as he balanced the metal clipboard on his knee.

 

“City Base, Rescue 77.”

 

“ _Rescue 7-7, this is City Base_ ,” replied Megan's voice. “ _Go ahead_.”

 

“City Base, Rescue 77, we are initiating hypothermia protocols for a male, approximately 35 years old, found inside of a walk-in freezer. Patient was exposed for at least four hours. His skin was cold to the touch upon our arrival. Stand by for vitals.”

 

Bell pulled back the blanket and pressed the defibrillator paddles to the man's chest to get a quick look at his heart rhythm.

 

“ECG shows sinus rhythm,” he reported, studying the monitor.

 

Ryan removed the blood pressure cuff from the patient's left arm.

 

“B.P.'s 120/60,” she reported. “Oxygen sat is at 94%. GCS is 12.”

 

“City Base,” Wick continued. “B.P. Is 120/60, pulse is 68 by palpation, O-2 sat is 94% on room air, GCS is 12. ECG shows sinus rhythm. Patient appears to have minor frostbite on the nose and hands.”

 

Dr. Griffiths walked into the Hospital base station, cup of coffee in hand.

 

“Did Lobo say _frostbite_?”

 

“Yep.” Megan gestured towards the computer screen which displayed the patient's information. “They've got a guy who was trapped in a freezer.”

 

The young doctor pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he studied the monitor.

 

“People never cease to amaze me,” he replied, leaning forward to key the microphone. “77, City Base. Have you initiated passive warming?”

 

“Rescue 77, affirmative,” answered Wick. “We've applied a Mylar blanket. We're currently administering 15 liters O-2.”

 

“Charles?” Bell called. “Charles! I need you to open your eyes again.”

 

The patient's eyes fluttered briefly.

 

“C-cold...” he muttered under the oxygen mask.

 

“Man, we gotta warm this guy up,” said Wick, glancing back at the patient.

 

“ _Rescue 77, City Base_ ,” the doctor called. “ _Do you have the ability to administer warm saline?_ ”

 

“Uhhh, stand by, City Base,” answered Wick, staring at his colleagues. “Can we warm saline?”

 

Bell nodded to the microwave oven on the counter.

 

“We could nuke it.”

 

“I don't think so. We might overheat it,” said Ryan as she quickly scanned her surroundings. “Aguilar, grab a pot and fill it with warm water.”

 

“Uh...okay?” Engine 77's rookie firefighter replied, setting her helmet aside as she grabbed a large metal pot from a shelf and placed it in the sink.

 

Ryan stripped off her yellow turnout coat as she stood. She held up her left hand. Bell retrieved an IV bag filled with saline solution and tossed it to her.

 

After Aguilar had filled the pot, Ryan stepped past her and plunged the bag into the warm water.

 

XXXXXX

 

The increasingly alert and conscious patient moaned angrily as the three paramedics wheeled him into the emergency department on a gurney.

 

“You didn't have to handcuff me to the stretcher!”

 

“Sure I did,” replied a police officer who followed the paramedics down the hall.

 

“Ah, your hypothermia patient, I presume?” asked Griffiths as he led them into an exam area.

 

“The one and only,” answered Bell.

 

The officer uncuffed the patient long enough for the team of doctors and nurses to transfer him to the exam table.

 

“Nice job, 77,” Griffiths called as the paramedics wheeled the gurney out of the room.

 

“Good call, Ryan.” Wick elbowed his partner.

 

She smiled as she stripped off her exam gloves.

 

“I do have a good idea every now and then.”

 

Wick glanced over at a raven haired nurse who passed by reading a patient's chart.

 

“Hey, she's new.”

 

“Careful, Wick,” said Bell as he stripped the sheets from the gurney. “Better find out what team she plays for before you ask her out.”

 

Wick shot him a look.

 

“Really, man?”

 

“What'd I miss?” asked Ryan.

 

“Dang it, Bell,” Wick mumbled, tight lipped. “You weren't supposed to repeat that.”

 

“Waaaaait,” Ryan giggled. “I get it now. We're talking about your dreamy roommate, right? You had a crush on a lesbian!”

 

Wick exhaled.

 

“Look, she said we were meeting her girlfriend at the concert. How was I supposed to know that she meant, ya know...her _girlfriend_? Could've happened to anybody.”

 

“Nope. Only to you, Wick,” Bell laughed. “Only to you.”

 

XXXXXX

 

4:05 pm.

 

Bell backed Rescue 77 into its spot at the parade command post and shut off the engine.

 

“Okay, mutual aid checklist,” he said. “Which channel are we on?”

 

“Verdugo Red 4,” said Ryan beside him, holding up the handy-talkie. “Already switched us over.”

 

“Thomas Brothers guide?”

 

Ryan pulled the thick map book from between the seats.

 

“Check.”

 

“Snacks?”

 

Wick held up a shopping bag.

 

“Check,” he called from the back of the ambulance, mouth full of beef jerky.

 

Bell leaned back in his seat.

 

“And now we wait. You guys ever worked standby on a parade before?”

 

“I did the Hollywood Christmas parade when I first got my medic certs,” said Ryan, watching the crowds line up across the street. “Kind of uneventful. I did get David Hasselhoff's autograph, though.”

 

“Speaking of movie stars,” said Wick, snapping off another strip of jerky. “How's yours?”

 

Ryan glanced back at him.

 

“Tom is not _my_ movie star, Wick. He's a friend who happens to be a movie star. There's a difference.”

 

“Yeah, he's a movie star who makes you all giggly,” said Bell.

 

“I am _not_ talking about this,” Ryan leafed through a pamphlet. “Hmm. It says here that they're expecting over 600,000 people to attend the parade, can you believe that?”

 

Bell reached through the window between the seats and grabbed a small bag of chips from Wick.

 

“Okay, then. I guess that answers that question.”

 

Ryan tossed the pamphlet onto the dashboard.

 

“I just don't want to jinx it, okay?”

 

“Say no more, Ryan.” Wick slumped back in his seat. “I'm the last person who should be asking others about their love lives. Hopefully, we'll have a slow night until we get kicked loose before the parade tomorrow. Easy money.”

 

Three tones sounded from the radio.

 

“ _Engine 31, with L.A. Rescue 77, traffic collision, pedestrian struck. Raymond and Colorado, Raymond and Colorado. Red 4._ ”

 

Bell started the ambulance's engine.

 

“Nice goin', Wick.”

 

Ryan slipped on her headset and flipped open the map book.

 

“Yeah, good job, Wick. Left turn, Michael.”

 

Bell flipped on the overhead lights and sounded the air horn to clear the pedestrians in front of them.

 

Wick buckled his seat belt.

 

“Hey, it's not my fault people in Pasadena can't drive!”

 

Bell hit the siren as soon as the RA left the command post. Ninety seconds later, they arrived in the intersection to see a gold Honda parked on the sidewalk, surrounded by a small group of bystanders.

 

Pasadena Engine 31 was already on scene and its firefighters were doing their best to clear out the group of bystanders who had gathered around the car.

 

“Everybody, step aside, please!” Ryan called as she and her partners approached, carrying their gear. “What've we got, Cap?”  
  


“Elderly gentleman got cut off and his car jumped the curb,” the engine's captain replied. “He hit a girl and she's pinned underneath. My medic's assessing her now. I've got a truck company started. Can one of you guys check out the driver real quick to make sure he's okay?”

 

“I'll check,” said Ryan stepping past him.

 

“We've got the girl,” said Wick.

 

A female firefighter/paramedic with the name _Turner_ stenciled on the back of her yellow turnout coat knelt before the car. She spoke with a young woman whose bottom half from the stomach down was hidden beneath the vehicle.

 

“Can you tell me your name?”

 

“Maria,” the young woman replied, holding a trembling hand to her forehead. “Please help me. I'm really scared.”

 

“Okay, Maria,” said the medic calmly. “My name's Kimberly and we're gonna help you out. I need you to stay calm for me. Do you hurt anywhere?”

 

“My...my leg...it really hurts bad...”

 

“Which one?”

 

“The left.”

 

Bell dropped flat on the ground to peer underneath the car, his chest against the pavement.

 

The young woman's left leg was bent at a slightly unnatural angle, a broken bone protruding through her skin.

 

He stood and leaned in close to Wick, lowering his voice.

 

“Compound fracture of the left tib/fib, probable knee dislocation.”

 

“Blood loss?” asked Wick.  
  


“I dunno. Maybe less than a unit.”

 

Turner, the Pasadena medic looked up at them quizzically.

 

Wick caught her eye and motioned as if he were breaking an invisible branch and mouthed the word, _compound_.

 

“What...what is it?” the patient asked, her voice wavering.

 

Wick knelt beside the young woman.

 

“We're just trying to figure out the best way to get you out of here,” he said.

 

Turner opened an orange case and retrieved a stethoscope.

 

“Maria, I'm gonna take some vital signs now, okay? I just need to check your blood pressure and heart rate, that kind of stuff.”

 

“Oh...okay...”

 

As Wick started to stand, Maria reached up and grasped his forearm.

 

“Please, don't...don't leave me.”

 

Wick dropped back to his knees again and flashed her a reassuring grin.

 

“Pretty girl like you? Come on. I'm not goin' anywhere.”

 

A wailing siren grew louder until Truck 31's long aerial truck rounded the corner and stopped beside the pumper.

 

Wick took her hand in his.

 

“How old are you, Maria?”

 

“Twenty,” she winced.

 

“You goin' to school?”

 

“Yeah. At PCC. I...I wanna get my teaching degree.”

 

“The world needs good teachers,” Wick glanced over the hood of the car to see the truck company's crew pulling lift bags and cribbing from their rig. “I gave my teachers a lot of crap growin' up. They must've been some kinda saints to put up with me.”

 

“You...you seem like you...you...turned out okay.”

 

“I think that depends on who ya talk to.”

 

The young woman chuckled in spite of herself and Wick caught a brief smirk from his Pasadena colleague.

 

Their patient shivered.

 

“It's so...so cold...”

 

Wick and Turner quickly exchanged glances. She was going into shock.

 

Turner pulled an IV bag from an orange case and handed it off to Bell.

 

“Maria, I'm gonna give you some saline and it should help you feel a bit better. I'm gonna need to start an IV to do it, though.”

 

“Okay,” she sniffed as Wick brushed a tear from her cheek.

 

31's firefighters slid wood blocks and lift bags under each side of the car as they prepared to lift the vehicle.

 

Turner inserted a catheter into a vein on her patient's right arm, then connected the line from the IV bag which Bell still held.

 

Ryan made her way over, stepping past several firefighters.

 

“How's the driver?” asked Bell.

 

“He's fine. Just shaken up. How's the girl?”

 

“Compound tib/fib. Saline's helping. Well, that and Wick's charms.”

 

The Pasadena firefighters simultaneously activated the air bags. The car began to lift as the bags inflated.

 

“Stop! You got it!” the truck's captain called and gave a thumbs up to the paramedics.

 

“Okay, Maria. We're gonna pull you out from under the car now,” said Turner while a firefighter placed a yellow backboard on the sidewalk. “We're gonna count to three and then slide you backward. Ready?”  
  
“Wait, wait,” the girl sobbed. “It's gonna hurt, isn't it?”

 

“Yeah, it might,” replied Wick. “but the sooner we get you out, the sooner we can take care of your pain. Come on, Maria. You got this. You're tough.”

 

“No, I'm really not,” she said, with a pained smile. She exhaled. “Okay. Go ahead.”

 

“On my count, guys,” said Turner. “One...two...three!”

 

Wick, Ryan and Turner slid their patient from underneath the car and onto the hard plastic backboard. After several more minutes of having her injuries tendered to, Maria was placed on a gurney and loaded into the back of Rescue 77.

 

“Where are we transporting to?” asked Ryan.

 

“Huntington Memorial,” Turner replied, taking a seat on the bench inside the ambulance. “I'll tell you how to get there.”

 

Ryan closed the back doors and made her way to the passenger seat in the cab.

 

Wick climbed in through the side door and took the seat at the head of the gurney.

 

“I...I don't even know your name,” said Maria, gazing up at him.

 

“It's Wick,” the young paramedic smiled down at her. “My name's Wick.”

 

“What kind of name is _Wick_?” she laughed.

 

“I was gonna ask that myself.” Turner flashed a grin.

 

She slipped off her helmet and placed it on the bench, revealing a head of strawberry blonde hair, pulled back into a tight bun.

 

Wick chuckled as the ambulance pulled away from the curb.

 

“Is this how you Pasadena people treat guests in your city?”

 

XXXXXX

 

5:10 pm.

 

“Nice work, L.A.,” Turner said as she and 77's paramedics stepped into the ambulance bay outside the emergency department.

 

“Not too bad yourself, Pasadena,” said Ryan. “You need a ride?”

 

An air horn sounded and Engine 31's Seagrave pumper stopped before them.

 

“Already here,” she said, draping her coat and helmet over her shoulder. She nodded to Wick. “See you at the next one.”

 

Wick cleared his throat.

 

“Uh, yeah. See ya.”

 

She climbed into the engine and offered a wave as it pulled away. Wick turned to see Ryan and Bell smiling at him.

 

“What?”

 

Bell slipped his hands into his pockets.

 

“Nothin'.”

 

Ryan threw up her hands as she headed for the rig.

 

“She was just being friendly,” said Wick.

 

“Uh huh.” Bell climbed into the cab and closed his door.

 

Wick smiled to himself before opening one of the R.A.'s back doors.

 

XXXXXX

 

11:48 pm.

 

Bridges sat in one of the recliners on the second floor of Station 77, holding a bowl of popcorn, nervously shoveling a handful into his mouth as he stared at the clock on the wall.

 

Stanley Two Dogs, Engine 77's engineer plopped down onto the couch and sipped from a can of soda.

 

“You alright there, Bridges?”

 

The senior firefighter nodded, not breaking his gaze from the clock.

 

“I'm fine,” he replied, cheeks stuffed.

 

“You know, it's already 2000 in Australia? It's actually tomorrow night there. There was no Y2K apocalypse. Nothing happened. It's almost 3 a.m. on the

east coast. No chaos over there, either.”

 

Bridges shook his head.

 

“Maybe it has to be New Year's all over the world for it to finally take effect.

What do _you_ know, anyway, Stanley? You're not a scientist, you're a fireman.”

 

Two Dogs laughed as he stood.

 

“You know my people have a saying in Lakota that I think describes you perfectly.”  
  
Bridges stopped, mid-chew and looked up at him.

 

“Yeah? What's that?”

 

“ _Wha-she-sho-wee-ko.”_

 

“And what's that mean?”

 

Two Dogs chuckled and slapped Bridges' shoulder as he stepped past the recliner.

 

“It means _crazy white man_!”

 

Bridges swiveled in the chair and hurled a handful of popcorn at him.

 

XXXXXX

 

Rescue 77 wailed to a stop on Colorado Boulevard. The R.A.'s flashing red lights illuminated the storefronts and reflected in the eyes of the people who had already staked out their territory along the parade route.

 

In fact, several large crowds of people already lined most of the parade route, even though the event itself wasn't slated to begin for another eight hours.

 

“Somebody call the fire department?” asked Ryan as she closed her door and opened a side compartment on the ambulance.

 

“Over here!” called a middle-aged woman wearing a purple parka and red beanie, her breath catching in the air.

 

The paramedics stepped through the crowd to find a man in a red sweater standing over an overturned barbecue. Smoking coals and several bratwurst sausages were scattered across the sidewalk.

 

“What happened here?” asked Bell.

 

“My husband tripped over our cooler and landed on the barbecue,” the woman explained in a mid-west accent. “There goes our dinner, all over the sidewalk, ya know? Anyway, he burned his hand.”

 

“Margie, I told ya, it's not that big of a deal,” the man sighed.

 

Ryan set the jump bag down on top of a newspaper machine.

 

“Well, why don't you let me take a look at it, anyway?”

 

The man nodded and reluctantly presented his left hand. His palm was bright red and the faint impression of three grill marks were present.

 

“How long ago did it happen?” asked Bell.

 

“Oh gosh, less than ten minutes,” the wife replied. “You folks got here pretty quickly after we called. I had to fight with ol' stubborn there, for a few minutes about whether or not I should call you.”

 

“Looks like a first-degree burn,” said Ryan, retrieving a bottle of saline solution from the bag. “I'm gonna pour some of this on it to help cool it down and then I'll apply a dressing.”

 

“Am I gonna have to go to the hospital?” asked the man, scratching the back of his head nervously.

 

Ryan poured the cool liquid over the man's hand.  
  
“Well, that's up to you, Sir. If you'd like to go, we can take you. Like I said, it does appear to be minor. Burns can grow in severity over 24 hours though, so I'd definitely get it checked out tomorrow, either way.”

 

“I thank you all for coming out to help me,” the man replied. “but I've waited all my life to come out here and see the Rose Parade and we're not losing our spots.”

 

“Now you listen to me, Franklin,” the man's wife snapped. “Your hand is more important than-”  
  
“I said no, gosh darn it!”

 

“So you guys are from Wisconsin, right?” Wick quickly interjected, stepping in between the couple. “Bet you're excited for the big game, am I right?”

 

“Oh you know it!” the man smiled as Ryan finished wrapping his hand. “Go Badgers!”

 

“We're gonna pound Stanford tomorrow!” the wife exclaimed, punching the air.

 

“Okay, you're all set.” Ryan slipped the jump bag's strap over her shoulder. “So

what's the decision?”

 

The man looked to his wife who sighed and shook her head.

 

“Well, we have picked out a good spot.”

 

Her husband wrapped an arm around her.

 

“I'll get it checked out tomorrow, honey bun. I promise.”

 

“Okay, then. Thank you all for helpin' us out.”

 

“That's what we're here for,” Bell smiled as they walked back to the ambulance.

 

“Nicely done, Wick,” Ryan lowered her voice. “I don't know about you, but I wasn't looking forward to getting tied up on a transport for that.”

 

“Me either,” Wick chuckled.

 

Suddenly, the throngs of people on either side of the street began to chant as one.

 

“TEN...NINE...EIGHT...SEVEN...”

 

Bell held up his watch.

 

“Look at that. I totally lost track of time.”

 

“...THREE...TWO...ONE...HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

 

Happy, raucous cheers filled the air. Car horns sounded from all directions. Traffic slowed as people lit firecrackers in the street.

 

Bell, Wick and Ryan exchanged hugs.

 

“Gotta say,” Bell sighed, tucking his hands in his pockets. “if I can't be at home with Megan, I don't think there's anybody else that I'd rather ring the new year in with than you guys.”

 

Ryan punched his shoulder.

 

“Aw shucks, Bell.”

 

Wick looked around quickly.

 

“You guys notice that? No planes falling from the sky. No power outages or mayhem. Looks like Y2K was a bust after all.”

 

Ryan blew on her hands.

 

“I'm sure Bridges is relieved.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Bridges set down the bowl of popcorn. He exhaled as he settled back into the recliner.

 

“I knew it'd be nothing,” he said quietly to himself. “Yep. No big deal.”

 

Suddenly the lights went out. He bolted from the recliner, knocking the bowl to the floor.

 

“It's happening! I told you guys it-”

 

The lights snapped on and he whirled to see Two Dogs with his hand on the light switch and the rest of the firefighters, including both captains, laughing uncontrollably.

 

Bridges opened his mouth to speak when the dispatch tones sounded.

 

“ _Engine 77, Truck 77, Taskforce 40, Station 2, Battalion 9, respond to the reported structure fire. 1429 Alameda, cross street DeLacy. Time out 0005._ ”

 

He shook his head and followed the other firefighters out of the room.

 

XXXXXX

 

6:24 am.

 

After an eventful night that included another traffic collision, a seizure, a drunken assault victim and a worker who had fallen from a float, Rescue 77 finally returned to its spot at the command post.

 

Bell sat behind the wheel, sipping coffee from a paper cup, staring blankly out the windshield at the rising sun. Ryan sat beside him, slumped in the shotgun seat, her hands tucked into her jacket, fighting a losing battle to keep her eyes open.

 

Wick snored peacefully from the back of the ambulance as he sat upright in the seat at the head of the gurney.

 

Bell yawned.

 

“Come on, where the heck is 102's?”

 

“Our relief will be here soon, Michael,” Ryan sighed. “I hope.”

 

A familiar red haired firefighter strolled in front of the rig, then stopped and waved.

 

“Wick, wake up,” Bell called.

 

Wick continued to snore.

 

“Wick, that Pasadena medic who was just being nice to you is here,” said Ryan, returning the wave.

 

“Wha? Really?” Wick sat up quickly and peered through the window between the front seats as he rubbed his eyes.

 

He stood and nearly tripped over the gurney. He opened the side door and stepped outside to greet their visitor.

 

“Hey, uh...Turner, right?” he ran a hand through his hair.

 

“Yep. Kim, Kim Turner,” she smiled. “You're Wick?”

 

“Wick Lobo. Yup. That's me.”

 

“ _Wick Lobo_? That's actually your name?”

 

“Yeah, I know...it's kinda...”

 

“No, it's cool. I like it. Solid name,” she offered him a white paper bag.

 

He peered inside and smiled.

 

“Donuts?! Right on.”

 

“Yeah, we just cleared a run around the corner. The guys were gettin' kinda hungry, so we figured we'd stop by the CP and pick up some donuts and coffee before we headed back to quarters. I saw your guys' rig and thought you could maybe use a little pick me up.”

 

“That was really nice of you. Thanks a lot.”

 

She shrugged and turned up the collar of her jacket.

 

“Well you know, mutual aid and all that.”

 

“Right,” he nodded. “Well thanks, again.”

 

She pulled a small stack of napkins from the leg pocket of her turnout pants.

 

“Almost forgot. You might need these.”

 

She gave him the small bundle, then turned to leave, waving again to Ryan and Bell as she passed.

 

Wick looked down at the napkins in his hand to see a phone number written on the top napkin in blue ink.

 

He smiled and climbed back into the rig.

 

Ryan glanced over her shoulder at him.

 

“She brought us donuts? That was nice of her.”

 

“Yeah,” said Wick, handing her the bag. “She's pretty nice.”

 

“Relief's here!” Bell called, starting the engine as a red and white ambulance identical to Rescue 77 arrived.

 

“Thank God!” Ryan replied, biting into a maple bar.

 

Rescue 102 backed into the space beside them. The crews waved to each other in acknowledgment, then Rescue 77 rolled out and headed for home.

 

**END**

 

_**Rescue 77** is property of Spelling Television. Any similarities to actual persons, places or incidents is purely coincidental. All firefighting and medical information may not be accurate._

 

 


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